


Don't Run Away.

by MikailaT



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon deviant, F/F, angst fest, critique and pointers welcomed, first fic in a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: After the battle of Mt. Hyjal, Jaina Proudmoore returned to Lorderon to help the remaining people escape the undead.  During her mission, she had hoped she wouldn't run into Arthas.  What she did run into was far worse.





	Don't Run Away.

The plaguelands were as unpleasant and sick inducing as the name suggested.

A small caravan of Lordearoneans were slowly trekking across a dirt road. Their movements were weary and sluggish, appearing even more lifeless than the undead scourge they were fleeing from. Peasant and soldiers alike moved with the same labored strain in their bodies. Months of simply trying to survive in their hellish situation had all but beaten the very concept of hope out of them. Yet they persisted, for now they had at least a chance of salvation.

Leading the pack of stragglers was one filled with more energy than the entirety of the group combined. Jaina Proudmoore moved with purpose, her ocean blue eyes scanning the area for incoming dangers. Her metaphysical senses reached out even further for threats out of sight. The only sounds she made were the slight shifts of her Kirin Tor robe and her staff making contact with the beaten path. Every fiber of her being was dedicated to a singular goal. Getting these survivors to safety across the sea.

Less than a year ago, the entirety of Azeroth was on the threshold of inescapable Armageddon. The scourge that plagued these lands were but a fraction of the horrors wrought upon the world in the form of the Burning Legion. Their vast armies field with demonic might sought to the utter destruction of countless worlds, and they meant to bring that very destruction to this world, as they attempted thousands of years ago.

But alas, such an apocalypse did not come to pass. The Burning Legion’s leader, Lord Archimonde, was destroyed upon the summit of Mount Hyjal and his demonic forces pushed off of the world. Jaina had seen it happen. By her hand and the hands of unexpected allies, she had made it happen. She had stood against the impossible odds before her and prevailed. Such a victory, and the bonds forged from it, had filled the young mage with overwhelming hope. Hope she feared she had all but lost before setting sail from Lordaeron not long before it fell to ruin. Hope that she channeled into determination. She knew what she was capable of now. She knew she could do better. That’s why she was here.

After the Legion’s defeat, she and the surviving members of the alliance who accompanied her headed south. There they established a small sanctuary off the coast of Kalimdor. Theramore. The settlement served as a beacon of hope and peace for all of Azeroth, or at least that was the idea. It was that island town that Jaina had come to bring these surviving humans to. This caravan was the fifth she was able to uncover in the week she had been here. With this last group, the ship she came upon would be at max capacity and ready to sail them all to safety. Even in their lifeless, wistful fatigue, every one of them expressed their eternal gratitude to Lady Proudmoore for her generosity and her courage.

Jaina would smile and wave off such compliments, for deep down she knew. She did not act out of courage. If she did, she would have returned to Lorderon months ago. No, she only came back when she was certain. Certain that there were no signs of the kingdoms fallen prince. The one who killed his father, the king, and served his own land to the scourge on a silver platter. The one who had a hand in allowing the Legion to return. The one she should have stopped back at Stratholme. The one who took away her-

Jaina shook her head slightly yet forcefully. She couldn’t think about that. About her. She already knew what Arthas had done to Quel Thalas. She had heard tale of what he had done to the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. Such thoughts would not aid her on her mission. What was important was that Arthas had not been spotted in Lordaeron since the Legion’s arrival and that the survivors she was leading were a mile or so from the coast. Things could not be more ideal. She could worry about the rest once everyone was safe.

As if her brief distraction had tempted fate itself, her senses felt something approaching. The cold, nauseating aura of deathly magic was drawing near from multiple sources. She felt the dark energies all around them, no doubt meaning to surround the caravan. Without a clear line of sight, Jaina was unsure was exactly they were about to face, as such she took no chances.

The mage rallied power behind her will. Her eyes began to glow with arcane might. Her fingers hummed and sparked with magic just waiting to be released onto their approaching foes. Throughout the journey, Proudmoore made an attempt to keep her considerable abilities reserved, lest her power serve as a signal to any magically inclined undead to more easily hunt them down. Now, however, it would serve as a warning to those who would dare attack them. There were multiple dark presences nearing their location, but no single one of them could match her for pure strength.

Jaina heard shifting amongst the trees on either side of the road. Not feeling comfortable just waiting to see what would come into sight, she swiftly got to work. With her staff raised in the air and the power of the arcane taking shape accordance to her will, large shards of ice began raining down from the sky. There trajectory was not random, however. The human sized chunks all fell just shy of the trees enclosing the road. The previously weary and listless travelers now looked around in confusion and fear as they now had walls of ice on either side of them.

“Quick!” Jaina called out to the caravan. “Hurry to the dock. We haven’t much time!” The mages eyes darted between the walls and the caravan, now moving double time. Her ears anticipated the sounds of ghouls who would likely claw at the ice, attempting to either break through or climb over it. She awaited the sound of giant abominations that would no doubt attempt to rip and tear their way through the frozen barricades. She received neither. 

Soon, several masses of smoke were seen flying over the walls and landing right before Jaina. Their lower halves were comprised entirely of gaseous magic. Their upper bodies were enrapted in loose cloaks that appeared ever flowing in the air, same as their ample, straw like hair. Their faces seemed to be contorted in eternal agony and suffering.

Banshees.

“Submit to the scourge,” the ghost closest to Jaina hissed at her. “Submit to the Dark Lady.”

Jaina simply narrowed her eyes in response and readied her staff. “Go,” she spoke to the caravan as she now stood at the back. “Hurry to the boat. I’ll take care of this.”

If the group had any hesitation to leave her there, it was short lived. The sound of hooves, creaking wagon wheels and heavy boots drew ever fainter as the group fled the incoming battle as quickly as they could. 

The Banshees howled their disapproval as they moved to attack. These spirits were a tricky sort. They each were capable of debilitating screams and had the ability to possessed the weak willed. Neither of which were a major threat to a mage of Jaina’s skill, however should any of them make it past her and reach the caravan, more than a few of them would no doubt perish.

As such, all Jaina had to do was ensure no banshee got past her. That required evening the odds.

She moved her staff in one broad sweeping motion. With that gesture and silent words of power, water began to well into ever growing masses on either sides of her. By the time, the banshees were within striking distance of the mage, she was accompanied by two large water elementals. Each of the summoned creatures was capable of enduring any attack the specters could make and had bodies unsuitable for any possession. The banshee leading the charge could not move away in time to avoid one elementals swipe. The rest of the group scattered before they had a chance to join their unlucky sister who fell unceremoniously to the ground upon one strike.

The wicked wraiths flew all about Jaina and her guardians, hurling volleys of twisted magic at them. The elementals liquid structure held soundly against the assaults, and returned them in kind. Those who did not engage attempted to break away from the skirmish and chase down the fleeing caravan. Jaina quickly eyed the banshees rushing down the road. She would not let them reach the others. Power gathered and surged in the palm of her had before being sent through the air in the form of a large lance of ice. The sharp projectile struck it’s target true, the banshee’s for dissipating in a cry of released agony. Her shocked sister soon joined her. Luckily, Jaina’s aim was much better than that of her elementals at long distances, though she rather not reflect on who helped her attain such marksmanship.

Before long, the skirmish had ended. The banshee’s were dispelled from the land of the living, leaving no bodies to speak of. Jaina looked around for possible reinforcements for a long moment before releasing a breath of relief. It appeared the worst of it was over. With a faint gesture of her staff, her two elementals reverted into simple water, returning to the soil of the scarred earth beneath them. “Well,” Jaina said to herself, a faint air of smugness to her words. “Can’t say I’m impressed with what the scourge has to offer these days.”

“Arrows in the quiver, little mage.”

Jaina froze. Her blood ran cold as her eyes widened at the sudden voice straight behind her. A voice so familiar, yet so hollow and chilling. Were it not for those choice of words, she might not have even recognized it. The mage reached out with her senses, praying the voice was simply a trick and there was no such presence nearby. No such luck. A dark aura much like the banshees before stood right behind her. This one however, was much stronger.

Jaina didn’t want to turn around. Doing so would only confirm what she had spent little over half a year denying. She prayed what she heard were merely rumors. That her beloved had not been raised into undeath and instead was given the peaceful rest she deserved. She knew if she turned around, that illusion would be shattered. Nevertheless, her survival, and by that token the survival of the people she intended to save, demanded that she turn to face the voice.

So she did.

The silhouette of a cloaked figure was the first thing she noticed, with two long elven ears protruding from the slits in the drawn hood. A moment later, she could make out the figure of a woman shrouded by the tattered garb. This banshee was very much unlike the others. A body completely intact and corporeal. Hunting leathers in place of billowing robes. Smooth lifeless skin perfectly preserved and nigh flawless. Well, save one flaw. A large scar planted in the center of the undead elf’s exposed abdomen. A scar left behind by Frostmourne itself.

It wasn’t until Jaina’s eyes came up to the face of the banshee that the dread she felt reached its climax. There she saw a face both smooth and sharp in it’s features. High cheekbones and full lips. Long, platinum blonde hair spilling from the hood and draping over her shoulders. And the eyes. Sweet merciful Tides, the eyes. Where not long ago she saw a warm hazel gaze, it was now the coldest of blue, as it was with any slave of the Lich King. The miasma of death did not conceal the truth as well as the mage would have hoped. Standing before her, only a few paces away, was the Ranger-General of Silvermoon.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina choked out.

The elf tilted her head slightly, almost curious about being referred to by name. “You know me,” she remarked, her voice as chilling and hollow as a moment before.

Jaina swallowed the lump in her throat. Sylvanas had not attacked her yet. Was there a reason? Was this just a distraction? She reached out further with her senses. She detected no other undead around them. The caravan was safe. So why did the undead before her not attack? What could that mean?

“Yes,” the mage finally said, doing her best to keep the budding thoughts of hope in the back of her mind. “Do... Do you know me?”

“I know only what the Lich King demands me to know. And I know that he demands your death.” With that, Sylvanas drew a saber fastened to her waist. It was not the finely crafted elven saber Jaina had seen countless times before. It was rusted and poorly kept, no doubt pulled of some hapless bandit she killed.

Proudmoore had every reason to abandon all hope that the woman she loved was anywhere to be found inside the lifeless husk, yet she persisted. “Sylvanas please,” she beseeched. “It’s me. It’s Jaina.”

The banshee responded with an arcing swing of her blade.

Jaina managed to raise her staff up to stop the strike dead. Her staff held strong against the meager sabre, but the force of the attack. nearly made her knees buckle. Sylvanas knew not fatigue or restraint in undeath, it seemed. This battle could not be won in close quarters. Jaina’s fighting prowess was not terrible as far as mages went, but she was facing the ranger who taught her every fighting move she knew. Melee combat was not an option. 

She swung her staff over to one side, forcing the blade away from her. The mage then leapt back as far as she could before hurling hurling a bolt of frozen power at the banshee. She knew it would miss, but the time it took Sylvanas to dodge gave her a precious moment longer to bolster her defenses. She reached out to the ice walls they stood between. Chunks of the solid material began to melt and take the form of familiar elementals from before. The summoned guardians wasted no time barraging the banshee with their aquatic strikes.

Sylvanas evaded every attack. Her motions familiar, yet still utterly breathtaking to Jaina. Even now, as a slave to the Lich King, she moved with impossible precision and grace. Before it filled Jaina with wonder and ever growing fondness for the elf. In this context, however, it only made her more nervous. Her mana reserves were plentiful, but at this rate they would be wasted just trying to strike the banshee, which even now she didn’t want to do.

“Sylvanas, please!” She called out to the ranger being kept at back by her guardians. “We’ve already made it this far. Just let me save them! The scourge has eno-“

Sylvanas landed against the barricade of ice and kicked off, sending herself high in the air, in that arc she had readied her bow and before landing had shot two arrows at each of the elementals. They were no ordinary arrows however. They burnt with with black and purple magics. Magics that caused the summoned creatures to be dispelled almost immediately. Jaina flinched as her guardians collapsed unceremoniously into large puddles. Her attention snapped back to the banshee quickly closing the distance between them.

The mage raised the staff and began to gather more arcane might. It was then that the elf made a strange, almost strangled cry and suddenly, Jaina could not feel her magic. She was silenced. 

Her mind raced for a possible recourse, but it did not race fast enough as a heavy boot suddenly made impact with her chest. Jaina fell hard to the ground, immediately winded by the kick. Her eyes were wide with shock and fear as Sylvanas loomed over her. The rangers expression was nearly blank with just a hint of smugness to it for her victory.

“My love,” Jaina rasped out, still trying to catch her breath. “Please.”

“Silly little mage,” Sylvanas replied coldly as she prepared her bow once more. “Your love is gone.”

Jaina wished, nay prayed, that she wouldn’t cry. The burning tears threatening to fall made that difficult. She held back a sob as she dared to meet the banshees gaze. If this were to be her end, she would look it in the eye.

“Prove it,” she challenged. “Do what she never could,”

Sylvanas drew the string of her pillaged longbow, aiming for Jaina’s face less than a meter away. Her orders were clear. The Lich King of the undead scourge made sure of that. His will, his voice, rung loud in her mind without end ever since she was raised. Commanding her to slaughter and raze in his name. Her orders here were no different.

“Slay the mage!” the Lich King bellowed in her mind. “Raise her as a perfect slave to scourge. Unmake her! Obey!”

“NO!”

A second voice suddenly screamed in the banshees mind, causing her to wince. The arrow was let loose, but shot into the ground just to the left of Jaina’s head. The ranger staggered back a pace or two, the sudden scream of an alien voice noticeably hurting her. After a moment, Sylvanas’ mind was silent. Completely. The Lich King's ever present voice was gone. Banished from her now empty mind. No. Not empty. The second voice was still there. 

Her voice. 

It was all starting to come back to her. Not to say that Sylvanas ever forgot who she was. The memories were all there, but they were repressed. Sectioned off behind a dam of will that the Lich King constructed. With that will gone, the dam had broken and everything, her memories, her will, came flooding back to the forefront of her mind.

She looked up from the ground. Apparently this sudden incident had brought her down to her knees without her realizing it. Her gaze came up to the mage she had attempted to kill not a moment ago.

”.... J-Jaina?”

Jaina was stunned. She hadn’t the slightest clue what just happened. One second she was prepared to meet her end at the hands of her former lover. Then the ranger stepped back and fell to her knees, missing the unmissable shot. She had wondered if this were all just a trick before she questioned to what end that trick could possibly be. Jaina had no hope of escape. A deceit like this would have been pointless.

Her shock grew ever larger as Sylvanas suddenly looked up at her. The eyes she looked into had changed again. Icy blue suddenly became fiery red. The hood of her cloak fell back to reveal what shadows had hidden. Underneath her eyes were long black streaks, looking like trails of tears. Proudmoore reached out with her senses. The dark aura the banshee was composed of was still present, yet.... different? It was a subtle change, but it was there. It was more... more wild. She was so transfixed by these small changes that she almost didn’t notice Sylvanas calling out to her. Her voice still hollow with undeath, but much meeker and more uncertain.

Jaina trembled. Did she dare hope? Could this have actually meant what she thought it meant? She rose to her feet and cautiously approached the banshee. “Yes,” she affirmed finally. “Sylvanas it’s me.” The elf’s eyes widened, slowly lifting herself from the ground but making no attempt to approach as Jaina did. The mage stilled momentarily. She prayed this wasn’t a trick, but she needed something to be sure. A sign. 

It was then a thought came to Jaina. Her free hand reached under her collar and pulled free what secretly hung around her neck. It was a pendant, carved into the shape of a dragon hawk feather. A gift of affection made personally by Sylvanas before they last parted. Sylvanas’ eyes fell upon the pendant, her body remained unnaturally still for a long moment before she finally responded. The ranger reached underneath her leathers and revealed something that even she didn’t realize was there. A blue crystal held onto by a silver chain. The stone glowed softly with magic.

Tears fell freely down Jaina’s face. Sylvanas kept it. After months of undeath and slavery, she kept it. She was still there inside that lifeless body this whole time. And now she was free. “Oh Sylvanas.” She took another step towards the elf.

The elf took a step back.

Sylvanas began shaking as she looked at the pendant in her hands. Hands that were dead. Hands that did terrible things. Memories of what had happened to her were raging in her mind. Memories of what she had done as the Lich King’s slave raged just as hard. Were she alive, she likely would have vomited. As such, she just shook and backed away.

“No, my darling. Please.” Jaina begged, worry crossing her features once again. “I’m right here. Don’t run away.”

Sylvanas looked back at Jaina. Her Jaina. The girl she had met by chance in Dalaran those years ago. The girl who’s brilliance, determination and wit won her heart soon after. The girl who fell to her knees and begged the General to sail west to Kalimdor with her before Quel'thalas fell to the scourge. And here she was again. Jaina came back to her, as gentle and beautiful as ever. Even after being scuffed up from battle, she was perfect.

But Sylvanas? Sylvanas was a monstrosity now. 

“Stay away,” the elf croaked. Her hands came to cover her ears, the noise of her memories getting louder and louder.

“My darling, it’s okay,” Jaina assured her, despite panic beginning to rise inside her as well. “Come- come with me. We can get you out of here. I can keep you safe. I promise.”

“I-I can’t!” Sylvanas cried out, her face contorted in pain from the growing loudness inside her mind.

“Sylvanas please! Stay with me!”

The banshee screamed. She screamed with unbridled agony and sorrow. Even as Jaina covered her already ringing ears, she could feel the pain Sylvanas had cried.   
Sylvanas’ body became shrouded in black smoke and unearthly tendrils, her crimson gaze and horrified visage the only indication that she was still corporeal. In her maddening grief, she flew away. Up over the ice wall and into the forest. Jaina scrambled to her feet and desperately attempted to follow, but by then it was too late. She was gone. Out of sight and beyond her senses. 

After a moment of silence, Jaina fell to her knees and wept. She cried for Sylvanas, only able to imagine what horrible things were going through her mind. She cried for herself to see her beloved come back to her only to flee. She cried for the other undead she now knew remembered who they were. She just cried.

She was unaware of how much time had past before her tears had run out and her throat went hoarse. She simply sat there in the dirt, feeling uncomfortably numb to everything. She peaked over to the road leading to the coast when she noticed the sun nearing the western horizon. It was bound to get dark soon and she likely had people awaiting her return. She lifted her aching body from the ground and pressed onward. She still had a mission to complete.

Even in her sorrow induced numbness however, a small smile did manage to creep onto her lips. There was one thing she knew for certain from all of this. Sylvanas was still there, and she was free.

And when Jaina returned. She was going to save her.

**Author's Note:**

> Next Time
> 
> "Is this how you intend to win me over?" Sylvanas asked snidely. "Getting me swept up in nostalgia and hoping we both just pretend that nothing has changed?"
> 
> "That depends," Jaina shrugged. "Is it working?"
> 
> The banshee was silent. "... You're impossible."


End file.
